Author: coreynasfell

Business lore cannot decide who it wants to attribute the “salt test” to. Some say Thomas Edison, others Henry Ford, not to mention household names like General MacArthur and a host of others.

What is the “salt test” anyway? Essentially, the salt test was a simple method devised to examine the character and personality of a potential employee.

It looks like this… Henry Ford takes you out to dinner, a small price to pay since you’ve applied for a key position in the company. Ol’ Henry keeps an eagle eye on you as the server delivers your requested meal. Your mouth waters as you reach for the salt. (NO! DON’T DO IT!) You proceed to smother your food in that all white ionic compound otherwise known as common table salt. You take a taste. Mr. Ford asks how your food is. You smile and provide enthusiastic feedback, “Delicious!”

Henry Ford knows that premature salt application would indicate a person’s narrow thinking and inability to analyze fresh data. The action might also show a lack of appreciation for the host or a shortage of trust in the cook’s ability.

THE CHALLENGE: Leave the salt alone! Examine your self-talk. Do you season your language with negativity?

“I can’t”

“I’m too”

“Why bother?”

“I’ll never”

How much of this negative dialogue acts as premature seasoning?

When you meet people do you really listen? Do you learn their name? Do you care about what they are saying? Or, are you projecting your own judgements upon them?

As you go throughout the day, pay attention to how often a limited view is imposed on yourself or others. You may be surprised at the frequency at which we season our situations prematurely.

What do most (if not all) books have in common? A blank page defiled by the words “this page intentionally left blank.”

As if failure to declare this intention would result in a lawsuit. But who really cares in the first place?

I’ve bookmarked, color coded, tabbed, and dog eared countless pages. But that blank page always goes without attention. Maybe there is more to

be told on that singular page than any paragragraph in any book. At least

one beckoning message is for us to “leave room.”

Our lives are filled with obligations and we saturate every crevice of every hour with trivial distractions! I bet one thing they are not filled with is bordom. Think about it, when was the last time you were genuinely bored? I’m not suggesting our time should be idled away. But it is worth asking, have we left any blank space – with intent?

“Boredom is good when in a creative rut, often you will find gift wrapped answers.” -Stephen King

THE CHALLENGE: How many minutes of your day are intentionally left blank? No seriously, count them up. Do you leave any room to just sit and think? Do you leave enough white space to find those gift wrapped answers? I dare you to stop reading this, unplug, and go experience boredom for a few minutes. String together some blank pages and note the tremendous influence it yields on the remainder of your “book.”

Crawl, walk, run – a principle that governs the universe for all able-bodied humans born into mortality. We might add to this sequence another step “run far” or “run fast” (pick your poison). Whether a four-minute mile or an ultramarathon, both are preceded with a vast amount of practice and effort just to get to the starting line. As an artist, I’ve put in countless hours trying to figure things out, but at age 39 the starting line is exactly where I’m at. The first leg of my race was a portrait of a snake. The inspiration behind the 8×10 oil painting is posted below.

I’ve been heavily influenced by a lot of people, but none as subtly profound as Petty Officer First Class Alvaro Hurtado. We called him “Hurt” and oftentimes “Gus.” He was not the most vocal leader, wasn’t the model of physical fitness, and not the most dynamic instructor. My initial impressions of Gus were therefore somewhat ill-mannered and careless. My biased judgments, however, were futile unproductive thoughts that set me up to eat a massive piece of humble pie. As far as influence is concerned, Hurtado was a sniper who put a slug in my forehead – as if it were routine business.

Each person we meet is like a mine laden with gold awaiting extraction. The gold is there for the taking. Unfortunately, most people are too lazy to do the panning, sluicing, dredging or underground blasting. As time passed I saw Gus not for what he wasn’t, but for what he was. I discovered what I needed to see, gold. I noticed that the GOLD he possessed, I lacked completely!

His attention to detail and quest for perfection stood out in many ways. For instance, the cover to his working uniform was starched and pressed to exactness, as though the cover itself was standing at attention. While many Sailors at the command frequently shoved crumpled uniform items into a gym bag, Gus made time to fold his t-shirts “boot camp style.” His penmanship was flawless. Each letter was strict and upright with textbook spacing and consistency. Surely a significant amount of time and effort went into mastering his craft.

Every time a Sailor checked out of Naval Expeditionary Medical Training Institute (NEMTI), Gus was the one guy to always ensure they left with a token of gratitude. It didn’t matter how low they were on the totem pole. He wouldn’t have it any other way. Sometimes he gifted a paddle which was painstakingly wrapped with his personal tools and talent. Others received a glass case containing contents that symbolized their role as build team leaders. Shadow boxes were carefully prepared for retirees. Markers were made available for others to sign a few words of good wishes or fond memories on the back of each parting gift.

I shall never forget the day that I stood in the back of the flag room holding a paddle that had just been presented to UT2 Samuel B. Kellogg. As the room cleared out, I proceeded to convey to Kellogg what a remarkable gift he had just received. I went on to express my judgment that Hurtado had a heart unlike anyone I had ever encountered, a heart that I sought to emulate. Somewhere in that dialogue, I choked up. I don’t recall if I was able to conceal the tears that streamed down my face, or if I even tried. One thing is for sure, I decided then and there that I needed to be more like Gus. I needed to ensure he left NEMTI with a personalized gift. I also determined that I needed to carry the torch to the best of my ability, that all departing shipmates were worthy of a few hours of my time so they too might receive a customized token of appreciation.

My talent lies in the realm of creative arts. As a child, I was somewhat exposed to fine art. I knew innately that oil painting was something I wanted to do at an extremely high level. I dabbled in many creative endeavors. I received a formal education in visual communications and web design. I excelled at photography and could hold my own with a can of Krylon. Unfortunately, when it came to oil paint I never took the bull by the horns. Oil painting requires many hours to execute a realistic representation. Every stroke of the brush must be deliberate and precise. I supposed that I could not offer a better gift to Hurtado than a painting, a perfect metaphor for everything I admired in him. I knew I wanted a subject that would require me to pay close attention to detail, form, shape, color, texture, and edges. I pondered for many weeks.

The solution finally arrived during Hurtado’s final presentation at a CPO 365 PME. His words led to a discussion in which our Senior Enlisted Leader Master Chief Haskins talked about the growing pains of personal development. Therein he made the comment, “When we grow, it’s like a snake shedding skin.” BINGO! At that moment I knew just what to paint. As a result, I presented to my friend, my brother, and shipmate, one of my first ever oil paintings on a very, very long journey to mastery. This piece is entitled “GOLF – ROMEO – OSCAR – WHISKEY” the phonetic military alphabet for the word “GROW.”

I will forever pay tribute the name HM1 Alvaro Hurtado for showing me a piece of manhood that I lacked entirely and for causing me to grow out of darkness into light as depicted in this painting.

If you hear the term “winter fun” you might think of ski slopes and snowball fights. For me, I prefer the beach. No crowds, no kids dusting your towel with sand, and no barrage of seagulls stealing your snacks because the person next to you tossed out their chili cheese fries like it’s a petting zoo. Sure it’s too cold to swim, but the vistas are all mine, the shoreline can be scavenged at will for all manner of treasures and the golden winter sunlight can’t be rivaled.

I remember Memorial Day weekend growing up in Rhode Island. For some reason, we thought this was a good day for an annual trip to the beach. It wasn’t – but I didn’t know that as a kid. I thought a beach was supposedto be crowded, that you were supposedto sit in traffic for hours, that you were supposedto wait in long lines for food or to use the restroom. I never asked the smart question, “Why are we doing this on the busiest day of the year?”

Guess what just passed? Memorial Day Weekend. I live five miles from the ocean and visit year round. I didn’t think much of it. Seemed like just another good day for me to walk the dog. Somehow I overlooked the fact that this holiday would bring out all the beach bums.

Roughly three miles into the walk my dog quit. She had enough of the sun, got a drink from the doggy fountain and plopped onto the sand beneath the pier – the one spot that nobody occupies due to the foul smell and lack of sunshine.

Not two minutes pass by before a cop drives up to me, delivers a dirty look and states, “You can’t have your dog on the beach.” Was I disappointed that the officer could not see the forest through the trees? Of course! He failed to ask the smart question.

Obviously, it wasn’t my choice to stand in the most inconvenient location beneath the pier. Obviously, my dog was preventing heat exhaustion. Obviously, nobody would ever use that section of beach. But the officer was simply doing his job. He waited for me to pick my dog up and place her back on the sun-baked pavement. If it was winter time (or any other time of year) I would never have this problem. The cops come out when the crowds come out.

APPLICATION: My life is best lived when I abide by strict boundaries. It makes me happy when I don’t have to rethink my decisions or compromise my standards. My life is most enriched when I protect my goals the way this cop protected the beach. He never had to ask the “smart question” because he had a job to do.

THE CHALLENGE: If you intend to make a difference in this world, you also have a job to do. Avoid asking questions that compromise the integrity of your decisions. Get your dang “dog” off the beach! You know it shouldn’t be there in the first place. Perhaps the only smart question to ask right now is, “How can I be more like that cop?” At the end of the day, excuses don’t alter performance. When something creeps in on your goals and tries to steal your attention, give it a dirty look and wait for it to “get back on the pavement.”

I’ve been toying with the idea to go “all in” on my artwork. It’s been many years since I bled ink and ate pencil shavings for breakfast.

One painter described why aspiring artists have a hard time transitioning from rookie to pro.

Wait for it…

They put their supplies away! It’s really that simple. They pack up and move onto the next thing. She explained that this behavior does not exist in the world of a pro, that their paint, canvases, and easels were all “part of the furniture.”

This is a fascinating insight. As I look around my living space I see cameras, lenses, strobes, speakers, keyboards, record player, and variety of other elements that show my love for photography and music. These elements are “messy” but I use them so frequently and they are such a part of me that they somehow become acceptable as “part of the furniture.”

THE CHALLENGE: Look around your space. What do you see? Is it a sewing machine? Bicycle? Camping gear? Weights? Tools? What do you use so often that it rarely gets put away, if ever? This is a good indicator of where to plot yourself on your goals and priorities map. Does your “furniture” align with what you truly long for most? Maybe it is time to trade your recliner for an “easel.”

In most situations, I’m a quiet guy. Somehow my dad nicknamed me “chatterbox” as child. The safety of my own home is probably the only time I lived up to such a name.

To this day I still hear people around me say, “watch out for the quiet ones, once they snap they’ll kill you.” Can’t say I’ve ever lived up to that.

In part however, I think there is some truth to the idea that the quiet folks tend to have a little more “clack” to their thunder, a little more “cold calculation” as words erupt like lava from a once stagnant volcano.

But it’s not just the quiet ones we need to be wary of. I think we ALL have an underground cable that if split will electrocute whomever dared to grasp the shovel.

I’m saddened with how quickly people go digging for cables. They long for contention and discord as if severed relationships were the rule and not the exception. They speak truth with no restrain, intent to hurt, intent to cause damage.

THE CHALLENGE: Brutal honesty (even if a skewed opinion) is often the shovel that will get you zapped. Brutal honesty has merit, but lacks sustainability. In dealing with those around you, look for the signs posted “warning, underground cable.” Stay away, dig somewhere else. Every personality has some territory that can be explored freely. Use tact. Use love.

As for your own cables, keep your signs posted. Avoid rust and decay. Sometimes we victimize ourselves when boundaries aren’t declared early and firmly.

My mother-in-law has many gifts and talents, among which is a passion for quilting. Browsing through the used bookstore recently, I picked up a title that I thought would help me better understand what makes a quilt worthy of regard.

“Plain and Simple” is a true story of an urban California woman, Sue Bender, who developed an obsession for the Amish and eventually lived among their people to discover their unique culture for herself. The curiosity was initiated in the 1960s over a spectacular Amish quilt hanging in a department store. Years later, in the fall of 1981, Sue found three strange looking dolls in a folk art gallery store. She learned these dolls originated from the Amish and over a six month period received twelve of these dolls from seven different women.

Sue observed that the dolls had no face. They were silent and serene. There was no pecking order. None was better or worse than the others. They didn’t have to perform or prove anything. No voice said, “Be happy, cute, or pretty.” No voice said, “Be a star.”

She continues… “In my world, everyone has a face, and many of us try to stand out. In their simplicity, these faceless dolls said more with less. They left more to the imagination. Maybe accepting who they are, they don’t waste their strength trying to change or compete.”

I’m reading this book to my daughters. My twelve year old has developed a talent for crocheting. She has made dozens of her own stuffed animals and other clever creations. Yesterday, she presented me with a surprise gift, a faceless doll.

Adding to the depth of her message, and a lesson for all, was a message born of pure childlike innocence best explained in her handwritten letter.

“P.S. I know the bag says, ‘Happy Birthday’ on it, just ignore it!”

“P.P.S. I also know it says, ‘To Skyla, Love Grammy and Grampy on it, ignore that too!”

“P.P.P.S. I LOVE YOU!”

What a great way to magnify the message of a faceless doll. We just need to learn what to ignore. Truth be told, I didn’t even notice the elements of the bag she was asking me to overlook. Fancy bows and glittery gifts stopped catching my eye many years ago, but there is a lot more work to do in the art of “overlooking.” Even though I know we are all crafted from crooked timber, I still spend too much time marveling over the incompetence of humanity at large.

THE CHALLENGE: Noah’s ark couldn’t have smelled very appealing, but it was much safer inside than out in the storm. Maybe your workplace stinks. Maybe your family stinks. Maybe your school stinks. When a patch or stitch in your quilt stinks, approach it like an ark. Approach it like a faceless doll. Approach it like the wise innocence of a twelve-year-old child who knows what to look beyond in order to get to the real gift and message! A “faceless” approach will allow you to “FACE LESS” of the unnecessary noise, drama, and distractions of a turbulent world.